A/N: Sorry for the long update, especially you Jay. I've been entirely swamped. This chapter is mostly fluff, but it does start to expose the larger plot. Anyway, enjoy, review, and keep reading.

Saphira was chuckling to herself a bit as she flew over the grounds, observing her rider, strolling through the gardens with Arya. She was incredibly entertained by his apparent regression to the age of 18. He was stumbling over words and his own feet when he was with the elf. He was even pulling faces in vain attempts to elicit a laugh; although they were mostly met with a disapproving raised eyebrow and occasionally a concealed smirk. His behavior was entirely unsuited to one of his age. His dragon knew though, as he did, that Arya would always bring out the youth and light within him.

As they walked, Arya would touch his hand periodically so she could once again feel her surroundings. Though she was up and about, her mental abilities had not yet returned; although she was getting more adjusted to communication via Eragon. She could also not perform magic in the normal way, since it relied on her reaching out to the world from within. She had found, however that she could perform basic magic while in contact with Eragon, drawing still from her own strength. Occasionally she would unintentionally sap some of his strength, but she was improving on that front; he also hardly minded.

The Riders' master had called for a day off "in celebration of their new guest", however Saphira suspected it was more for his own convenience to spend time with his long absent friend. The unprecedented nature of the request had not gone unnoticed by the students either, or among the university residents. There were whispers of everything from marriage to secret, malicious plots, and even untold war in the west. Eragon had been confronted about these rumors. His only response had been, "If they want to talk, let them talk. They may think what they like". He seemed far more interested in entertaining their guest.

Eragon sat on a bench, indicating for his companion to join him.

"Though I am loathe to broach issues of such gravity so soon after our reunion, what circumstance has allowed you to visit us? Are you not needed on the throne in Ellesmera?" He asked in a tone obviously chosen in an attempt to keep the mood light.

"I had hoped to wait before discussing this, but I have abdicated the throne." Eragon saw the light in her eyes as she claimed her freedom with a subdued sort of happiness. "It is now held by Illaren. Firnen and I decided it was time we, as Rider and Dragon, served our duty to the Order and the Peoples of Alagaesia." She said this with an uncharacteristically light air, as if freed from some unpleasant oath.

Any who knew her well knew that Arya was not the type to be happy in a palace, nor on a throne. She longed for the freedom of the sky and the woods. She was evidently glad to be with others who neither fear her for her status as a rider nor revere her for the same. Arya served her time upon the knotted throne and passed the job to someone more suited for long-term leadership.

"I am glad to see you again at my side." Eragon said, not bothering to hide his lopsided grin.

"As am I gladdened to be by it," she replied with the same fiery light in her eyes.

Her depression at the apparent loss of magical independence was softened somewhat by the notion of spending her days with Eragon. Their relationship still had no official definition, but it was too complex to define, and neither of them placed much urgency on it. Both were simply happy for the other's company.

"I must ask," Eragon started, "why did you come in the night? If you had waited but a few hours more I could have received you properly and you might have avoided the incident on the stairs; you wouldn't have to hold my hand to feel the world around you". He looked at her questioningly.

"I was impatient," she said in the Ancient Language. She looked down and tucked a bit of raven hair behind her left ear. Eragon grinned crookedly, suppressing a chuckle at the nervous way she said it. "And, though the circumstances could be more favorable, I quite enjoy holding your hand".

Arya's ivory cheeks turned slightly pink with her last sentence. Eragon couldn't believe it, Arya had blushed. He thought must be the first human in history to see a blushing elf. (In fact, he was the second, the first was his father, but that is a story for another time.)

Eragon's face broke into a huge grin which only caused the elf's blush to deepen. He took her hand and pulled her to him in a warm embrace. She looked up into his eyes. The contact allowed them to feel one another's minds. He could feel what she wanted to do. His hand moved to cradle her angular face. With more sureness than anything she had done yet today, Arya leant up and kissed him gently on the lips.

Regardless of how many times he'd imagined it, regardless of how much he tried to prepare himself, he was still shocked by the absolute, pure, perfection of her kiss. Their hearts were hammering, their bodies were tingling, and their minds were one during that brief moment. Eragon was vaguely aware of Saphira's smug sense of righteousness as she reveled in the fact that the hopes she had helped him keep alive all these years were finally coming to fruition. He also sensed another, less pleasant emotion through their bond, but it seemed buried, and he was too engrossed in his current activity to seek it out.

After what felt like a beautiful eternity, Arya pulled away, resting her forehead against his and letting out a contented sigh. Their eyes still closed, they were content to simply hold one another. She shifted to hide her face in his neck. The two riders sat like that for the better part of an hour, till the sun was at its zenith, sharing thoughts, memories, and feelings.

The large, blue dragon soaring overhead was fighting back the familiar pangs of jealousy she felt whenever Arya was around, reminding herself that Eragon had a right to the same happiness she felt with Firnen.

Although she was ultimately very happy for him, her fierce protectiveness still harangued her with reminders that Arya had hurt him before, humiliated him, broken him. She quelled this with somewhat more difficulty than she had her jealousy. Saphira had learned that Arya slept with Eragon's fairth of her at her bedside every night since they parted at the river. As Firnen had told her, he had drawn Arya back from tears when it had fallen from a carefully wrapped pack on the flight to Farrah Valley and broken. She had purportedly stopped for three days to find the pieces and repair it, though it still bore a long, thin scar through the middle. Arya had not yet shared this information with Eragon, even now with their newfound mental communion. Saphira had sworn to Firnen that she would allow Arya to tell him in her own time, as it was such a damning piece of evidence the intensity of her feelings toward him.

Back on the ground, the two riders were now on their way to the Great Hall for luncheon. Arya was still experiencing headaches and could only be up for a few hours at a time, but she seemed to be recovering quickly. Eragon was glad, but held some trepidation as to if their closeness of the last two days would fade with her recovery.

"Are you well enough to meet the other Riders? I've heard they are quite keen to be introduced" Eragon asked, remembering Viktor on the night of Arya's accident, nearly begging to meet her properly when she was well.

"I…" She paused for a moment, unsure. Eragon's hopeful gaze won her over though, as it always did. "I would be glad to meet them, on the understanding that my condition remains unknown".

He nodded in agreement and pushed open the large dwarf-carved doors. They entered the hall hand-in-hand both as happy as they'd ever been.